


2019 Tumblr Prompts & Micro-drabbles

by Cinlat



Series: Tumblr Prompts & Drabbles [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Delving into the past, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Frenemies, Multi, SIS Agents - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:37:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: Instead of posting a million tiny stories, I'll group them by year. New Year, new opportunities for drabbles! These will be in no particular order and will include any/all of my ocs not involved in an AU. Each drabble will have its own rating/warnings/intros.*tags added as the stories progress





	1. Theron & Fynta (Frenemies)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 361  
> Rated: T  
> This is from back in Fynta’s Epoch days, long before Havoc when Theron was Fynta’s trainer and handler.
> 
> This is based off a Tumblr gif set that can be found here: https://cinlat.tumblr.com/post/181853564293/i-couldnt-help-myself-i-blame-kunoichi-ume-and

Theron walked into his temporary office with attention fixed on Fynta’s evaluation. If he tweaked a few of the points, then Theron could be rid of the blasted woman and get back to his life. No one would know, right?

The squeak of a chair brought Theron’s attention to his desk. “This thing is osik,” Fynta complained as she shifted back and forth. Theron suppressed a groan and click off his datapad as she leaned forward with palms splayed across the surface. “This isn’t so bad, going to take it with you when you’re done fudging my records?”

Ignoring Fynta’s question, Theron sighed. “Why are you in my chair?”

“Because you weren’t.” The woman’s broad grin irritated Theron all the more, and Fynta knew it.

“Get out,” Theron ordered, hooking a finger over his shoulder.

Fynta leaned back, fingers laced over her stomach and grin unfazed. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t earned that chair yet.” Technically, it only belonged to Theron temporarily. Once Fynta’s training was complete, he’d move back to the field. But for now, it was his. “Look, either remove yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

“But, I’m comfortable.” Fynta offered an exaggerated yawn, then settled deeper into the chair. “Took forever too, I’d hate for all that work to go to waste.”

Theron growled and took a step forward. He paused when Fynta leaned forward, hand going to his sidearm on instinct. Blue eyes held him with a challenging smirk as Fynta emerged with a jar containing a–

“Fuck,” Theron cursed as he stumbled back. Fynta plopped a jar containing a spine spider on the desk, then steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “That’s not fair, Fynta.” He hated bugs, especially the ones with eight legs. Few people knew about it, and of course, Fynta would be the one to find out.

The two stared at one another for a long moment until Theron huffed. He flopped into the plastic fold out chair in the corner and kept a wary eye on the jar. “Fine, keep the damn desk.” Fynta’s ploy had worked. There was no way he was going to spent another year with that thrice-damned woman.  


	2. Fynta/Jorgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta always get her way...sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically a Life Day post, but I'm sticking it here anyway. 
> 
> Word Count: 450  
> Rated: G

“I’m not wearing it,” Jorgan repeated. The stubborn Cathar refused to take his eyes off the datapad, even if Fynta bounced on the cushion beside him. After four years of marriage, Aric had become immune to most of her antics.

Flopping onto the sofa, Fynta laid the decorative shirt on the coffee table and leaned back. Life Day loomed around the corner, and while Aric had never been the jolliest, she’d hoped to talk him into at least one festive photo. She stared out the window of their Nar Shaddaa apartment at the colorful, holographic trees that decorated the docks and sides of buildings. Even the shabbing advertising blimps had flashing lights on them.

Jorgan sighed and set the datapad on the arm of the sofa. “A holo-picture would be nice to have.” Fynta faced her husband with a bright smile and reached for the sweater. “Not in that,” he grunted.

Pushing to his feet, the Cathar left Fynta and the brightly colored shirt in the sitting room while he retreated to their bedroom. Fynta considered following just to see what he was up to. “Waist up?” Aric called, his voice muffled by the closed door.

“Sure,” Fynta answered, though she hadn’t given the specifics any thought. She’d known it was a doomed mission from the beginning.

After what felt like an eternity, the door slid open to reveal Aric tugging at the hem of his dress coat with short, irritated jerks. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Fynta leapt to her feet just as Aric reached the tree that she’d conned off a vendor on the station orbiting Nar Shaddaa. “What’s this?” she asked, walking a slow circle around her husband. His dress uniform looked as good on him as it had the day she’d first seen it, but the relaxed pants and bare feet made her snicker.

Aric’s eyes followed Fynta, one brow lifted when her hand skimmed lower than the uniform top. “I told you that I’m not wearing that.” Aric jerked his chin towards the wad of green and red fabric on the table. “You wanted dressed up–” he held out his arms. “Best you’re getting.”

Glancing down at her own festive garb, Fynta grinned. It had been a gift, not something she’d have chosen herself, but not bad either. “I’ll take it. Are you going to smile?” Fynta tossed the hover platform to the pre-programmed height and activated the camera with a remote.

“Nope,” Aric responded.

Fynta looked over her shoulder at the stubborn Cathar. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to ruin your image by letting people know that you have a personality, anyway.”

The camera flashed, and Aric leaned closer to whisper into Fynta’s ear. “Exactly.”


	3. Fynta/Jorgan & Elara/Cormac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tumblr Prompt from Dingoat about OTP asks for Fynta/Jorgan & Elara/Cormac
> 
> Rated: Fluff  
> Word Count: 542

**8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?” (Fynta/Jorgan)**

It took three attempts to activate the door panel with her hip. If it hadn’t been for the Verpin hanging at just the right height, the damn door might never have opened. Fynta stumbled through, plopped the bags on the counter, and stretched her back. She despised shopping, unless it was for weapons or armor, of course. Everyday items, however, and Fynta usually tried to bribe someone else into doing it. 

“Fynta?” Aric appeared in the opening of the hallway, scowling at his datapad until he looked up. Fynta adored the way his countenance softened ever so slightly.

The Cathar set the device on the counter to rifle through the bags. It was clear the man was on a mission, and Fynta mentally ticked off everything on her list. It wasn’t until his brows furrowed that she remembered. “Did you get–”

“Fierfek,” Fynta spat before Aric could get the words out. 

Fynta’s eyes narrowed at Jorgan’s low chuckle, and he held his hands aloft. “I just finished with my last report. How about I tag along this time.” Fynta raised an eyebrow, and Aric flashed a devilish grin. “We can pick up some Corellian Whiskey while we’re out.”

**16: Which one gives the other their jacket?**  (Elara/Cormac)

Cormac tried to appreciate the fireworks display over the Organa Estate. They’d invited he and Elara to take part in the festivities as guests of honor, something usually reserved for nobles and dignitaries. Saving the galaxy came with its own set of perks, as Balic was finding out.

Yes, he’d finally made the big time. Great food, fancy accommodations, and all right in the middle of shabbing winter. Cormac pulled Elara closer. He placed a light kiss on the top of her head and hoped that she wouldn’t catch on that he was really siphoning body heat. 

Bright, grey eyes turned towards Balic in time for Elara’s brows to pull together. “We could go back to the room,” she suggested, though he heard the disappointment in her voice.  
  
“Nah, I’m fine.” Balic offered his most charming grin and bit his tongue to suppress the shiver determined to crawl up his spine. It wasn’t Elara’s fault that he’d been too stubborn to pack a jacket. The temperature had been warm when they left the room, and damn it, Balic was an Alderaanian native; he knew the climate better than anyone.

At least, that’s what he’d thought. Cormac envied his wife’s obsessive attention to detail, in that moment. She’d never be caught unprepared, it simply wasn’t in her nature. As she slipped the pack from her shoulders, Balic began considering whether or not he could squeeze his burly arms into one of Elara’s lighter sweaters that she’d likely packed.

After a few moments of digging, Elara made a noise of triumph and shook out a long, sheaf of black fabric. “You never have been very astute, Balic,” she murmured with a wry smile. 

Cormac’s heart soared at the familiar tear along the sleeve of his favorite pullover. This time, when he pulled her closer, it had nothing to do with the cold. “Doll, I’m your slave for the rest of the trip.” 


	4. Microstory: senseless (Fynta/Jorgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr ask from Shimmersing. 
> 
> Word Count: 364  
> Rated: T

Fynta’s eyes ached from staring into the blackness. It surrounded her, endless and devoid of stimuli. There was no light, sound, smell. Fynta couldn’t even feel her own body, and reaching for it did nothing to convince her that it had ever existed.

There was only one explanation for Fynta’s current, maddening state. She’d died and gone to the Void. Of course, Fynta knew this was the inevitable outcome for her misspent life. She had no children; no lineage to carry on her name. Havoc Squad operated as a covert team, so she would soon fade into obscurity in the Republic. There was no one to guide her soul into the Manda.

Somehow, Fynta had always assumed that the Void would be more peaceful. Every religion stated that it was lacking in everything, and she’d wrongly assumed that meant the same for her, that she’d fade away. This was so much worse.

Fynta was cold. So, fierfeking, cold. She needed something to grasp onto before losing what was left of her sanity. Fynta tried to scream, but the sound died before it left her lungs. She couldn’t even be sure that her mouth opened. Flailing neglected to produce results, either. She was stuck, hopelessly alone, and panic finally set in.

Fynta did something she hadn’t done since her parents’ death. She tried to cry.

Warmth settled against Fynta’s back, then spread around her waist into her stomach. She clung to that sensation, willing it to take her away from her personal hell. “Easy, Fynta,” a voice whispered. She couldn’t discern the origin, but turned nonetheless. “It’s just a dream, I’m here.”

The voice grew louder as small points of heat traced up her neck, guiding Fynta from the darkness towards warmth and light. Finally, her eyes opened to find the understanding smile of the only person who had ever been able to pull Fynta back from the brink.

“Better?” Aric asked, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.

Fynta nodded, tried to speak, then swallowed and turned to bury her face in his fur. She inhaled the musky scent so unique to her husband and allowed tight muscles to relax. “I am now, riduur.”


	5. Micro drabble: trembling hands (Nuada/Rasiel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from Keirra  
> Word Count: 546  
> Rated: Fluff
> 
> This is technically from our AU Sithy Bunch, but given that it's sooo far into the future, I'm throwing it in here. 
> 
> Bit of explanation first:  
> Nuada (Tully and Ma’at’s oldest) falls for a Jedi from a prominent, but not all that great, home in the Republic. She and her sister Dina are the daughters of the typical political family. Make everything look good on the outside, while it rots on the inside. Their father used having two Jedi daughters to bolster his career, while their mother sought solace in a bottle. Ras basically raised her little sister, and she was suspicious of these two princes (Nuada and Ari) from Zakuul who wooed them so easily. Actually, she’s just suspicious of everyone. So here, have this little bit of a happy moment for her and Nuada.

Rasiel shook out her hands as she paced the small lift. Nuada leaned against the far wall, his cool demeanor irritating her more. “Would you stop,” she snapped on the next pass. “I hate it when you stare.”

Nuada’s smile widened. “Just admiring your beauty, Lady Jedi.”

Before Rasiel had fully considered her actions, she’d launched at Nuada to slap a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that.” Not here. Not on Drumond Kaas where she had absolutely no business being. The darkness pressed on Rasiel’s mind from all sides, suffocating her in a way she hadn’t realized was possible.

It was her own fault. Rasiel had refused to enter their palace on Zakuul, but agreed to the smaller estate on the Sith homeworld. It was a stupid decision, and she refused to admit that curiosity had gotten the better of her. She should have taken Dina’s suggestion about meeting the Emperor and Empress at the annual ball next month, but she’d been impatient. Foolish. 

Panic began to take hold, and Nuada stepped forward to grasp Rasiel’s shoulders. “Breathe, Ras. You’re safe.” He pressed a finger between her eyes to smooth the creases in her forehead. “And, stop doing that. The choice is made, no backing out now.”

Rasiel let Nuada’s bright, blue eyes swallow her. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. Rasiel had always prided herself on a great Sabaac face, but it failed her where Nuada was concerned. “You’re right.” When his mouth opened, she put a finger over it. “No, I will not repeat it.” Nuada wouldn’t let them hurt her, and if half the stories he and Ari told were true, these Sith were nothing like the ones that the Order send them after. Nothing like the families her father boasted on Coruscant.

“Are you sure they’ll approve,” Rasiel asked, hating how her voice shook. She might not show it, but another rejection would crush her. Ras was tired, she just wanted a safe place to rest for a while.

“They will love you, and my mother–” Nuada slid a arm around Rasiel’s shoulders, then, he let out an exasperated sigh that never failed to make her laugh. “Well, you will never have to worry about field rations again.”

The door dinged as Rasiel started to respond, and she turned slowly to find not an empty foyer, but a mass of smiling faces. She froze, unsure how to respond to such an overwhelming greeting. A short, curvy woman with a mass of curly black hair and molten eyes pushed to the front and held her hands out in invitation. She looked so much like Nuada: same easy smile, skin tone, and relaxed aura. Ma’at Tectmar, Empress of Zakuul, welcomed Rasiel into her home without pomp or servant. 

Rasiel cast a questioning glance over her shoulder. When Nuada tipped his head in acknowledgment, she walked stiffly into the embrace of a well known Sith. Ma’at squeezed Rasiel the way she wished that her mother would have done so many years ago, and Rasiel’s fear began to fade, as did the pressure on her mind. 

With a gentle kiss to her cheek, the woman’s richly accented voice warmed Rasiel’s heart. “Welcome to our home, child. Stay as long as you like.”


End file.
